


The Sand of Iran

by ncty



Category: Iran - Fandom
Genre: Death, DescriptiveWriting, Sunsets, War, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 12:22:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17849387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncty/pseuds/ncty
Summary: A poem/ descriptive writing about a sunset at Iran, the 'main' character is a boy around 18 years old who is trying to escape Iran. This was originally just some English homework but I decided to post it :) hope you enjoy





	The Sand of Iran

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first post :)) It was supposed to be just describing a sunset but idk somehow I over-wrote and it turned out to be this deep poem thing lmao

The Sand of Iran

Dark fog hangs over the sea,  
Like a blanket protecting children from the monsters in their bedroom.  
Waves lap quietly at the shore like a kitten drinking milk,  
But it laps sadly, as if it were guilty and remorseful.

Guilty and remorseful for bringing up evidence,  
All the leftovers from what was going on beyond the blanket,,  
Protecting us from the world outside.

A terrible stench fills my nose,  
A rotting arm washes up and seats itself next to a broken gun,  
Consoling it, for it too has seen the terrors of the world.

The dock vibrates as a deep, but quiet Boom  
Breaks the silence yet again,  
And the dark grey blanket is illuminated,  
By a soft summery orange,,

Glowing like a warm candle.  
“ Get on! Hurry, they are near!”,  
Heavy footsteps thudded on the dock  
Men all over the age of 18, myself included,  
Step into the boat, making it sway slightly,  
Like we were babies being rocked in a crib,  
Covered by a warm blanket.

Sailing out of our war-torn country,  
Wondering if the outside would be wonderful,  
Or just as wicked.  
I stare at the horizon, but snapped out of my thoughts,  
Bullets rained down on us  
“ Traitors!” they screamed.

The rain leaves no one untouched,  
A drop of it rains down on my head,  
Crimson blood swirls around the salty water  
And paints the boat, like I were Rob Duhon  
And the boat my canvas, titled Messy.

The salty crimson water engulfs me  
Welcoming me with its now warm waters  
I suppose this is the end  
And I sink down  
Down and down, to be buried by the sand  
The sand of Iran.  
Oh well, better than being hanged.


End file.
